


The Trouble With Drabbles

by shatteredwriters



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: A Little Fluff to Get Through the Day, And Spock Loving Him For It, And with the way Spock says Captain and Jim says Mister Spock, Bones and Spock being protective, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble, Episode Tag, Flirty Spirk, Fluffy Bit of Goodness, Jim being adorable, Jim hates getting old, M/M, Nightmares, Obsessed with the way Jim says Spock and Spock says Jim, Rainy day feels, Sleepy Jim for the win, Star Gazing, The Empath made me feel some type of way, The gosh darn cutest ship in the whole galaxy, They Are My Favorite Ever, This show is actually making me insane but I love it, and spock makes it a little better, episode tag s01e29, even if they admit it in roundabout ways, its the little things yall, jim and spock say I love you without really saying I love you, jim kirk has a bad day, old married spirk, spirk, the crew places bets on whether Jim and Spock are dating, welcome to my current hyperfixation may I interest you in some angst? or some fluff?, yes theyre in love love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 10,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27442426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredwriters/pseuds/shatteredwriters
Summary: A collection of TOS drabbles, mostly consisting of little Spirk moments (with some cameos from the rest of the crew)! Most will be fluffy bits of goodness, with some sprinkling of hurt/comfort or angst. These ideas aren't long enough for fics of their own, so I figured short chapters was a great way to share these.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, James T. Kirk & Spock, James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 103
Kudos: 131





	1. Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

> My first of probably many drabbles on Jim, Spock, and their wonderful relationship. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim liked looking at the stars. Spock liked looking at Jim.

“Do you think you’ll ever get tired of looking, Mr. Spock?”

Spock glanced over towards Jim, and then out the observation window where his friend was gesturing.

There before them was infinity.

Stars and galaxies not yet discovered nor travelled. Answers for questions not yet asked. Unknowns stretching as far as the eye could see.

Space itself was truly breathtaking. And exploring it was a gift.

Spock saw it for what it was, for what it could offer; science and fact and solutions. A tool to wield. A source of information. But he could sense that there was more to it in his captain’s mind—space was not just some _thing,_ but an intricate woven fabric of light and time. Beautiful, even.

The quiet whisper of Jim’s voice, the wonderment in his expression, revealed how remarkable he believed it to be. Spock could not contest the intoxicating allure of space’s complexities, and he rather enjoyed observing all the various constellations and star systems.

It was magnificent. Awe-inspiring. And yet, unconsciously, he found his eyes shifting away. They settled on the curve of Jim’s cheek, the few strands of hair that fell against his forehead, his delicate smile.

Out there was infinity, right here was his whole world.

“No, Captain. I do not believe I will.”

The Vulcan was no longer just speaking of the galaxies beyond. His friend’s question may have been about the infinite stars, but Spock’s answer was solely about Jim.

He did not attempt to mask his swelling emotions, his affection, his sincerity. It softened his words, brought them towards the threshold of the familiar. The dark swirls of Spock’s eyes conveyed all this and more, but Jim didn’t notice. His gaze was still fixed outwards.

The pair relaxed into their companionable silence, neither one wanting to break whatever was poised delicately in the space between them. It was the hushed awe one finds in the presence of greatness, of divine ethereality, of humbling sights. Everything was still, silent. A magical reverie. They were small collections of atoms compared to the whirling, majestic cosmos.

That kind of grandeur was sobering no matter how many times they’d seen it.

Jim’s hushed voice broke the stillness.

“When I was little, I thought they were fireflies.” An amused scoff. “Silly, I know. But I’ve always liked looking at them. I progressed past thinking they were bugs, in case you were wondering...”

After a moment, the captain continued thoughtfully.

“I had a friend tell me once that when we die, our souls rise up to the heavens, settling in the pattern of the night sky and appearing as beacons of light to always remind us we are never alone. It…well, I liked thinking that those faraway blinking lights could be our ancestors long since forgotten, our forebears, our loved ones. Looking at the stars is just as much looking at a map of our past as it is a map of our future. Dust and particles and souls.” Jim shook his head faintly. “Miraculous things, stars. They’re infinite. They watch over us, guide us resolutely through the dark, light our winding paths…”

Spock briefly considered remarking how it had been a known fact since the advent of space exploration that stars were understood as nuclear giants of heat and light, with large gravitational pulls and volatile surfaces.

But he chose not to.

He rather liked Jim’s explanation.

Stars were the advent of all life. The building blocks, the start, the beginning. It was heartening to think, however illogical, that souls become part of the suns of faraway galaxies when they pass on. A beginning and an ending meeting in the middle. The circle of life.

It wasn’t rational or scientific. But there was something in the way Jim said those words, a look in the captain’s eyes, that made Spock almost believe it were true.


	2. A Private Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones witnesses a moment between his two friends.

Bones and Spock tried to suppress their apprehension as they quickly came to a stop outside Jim’s door. They’d been unable to get him on comms for the last few minutes, which didn’t _necessarily_ mean anything significant or troublesome. But Spock had insisted they go see if anything was wrong and Bones hadn’t put up an ounce of fight.

Punching in the override code, Spock attempted to project a composed air as the lock hissed open. Not exactly barreling, but something quite similar, the Vulcan stepped through the threshold and into Jim’s quarters.

Thankfully, any and all worries quickly evaporated. Bones even chuckled.

Jim was passed out at his desk. His PADD and computer were shining in the otherwise darkened room and his desk was in a state of disarray. He was also noisily snoring, not rousing even a smidge at the pair's brusque entrance.

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Relieved, but not surprised. The damned idiot’s been running on fumes for days.”

Bones ran his tricorder over Jim for reassurance. In hindsight and retrospect, it was obvious they had overreacted—racing to the lift, speed walking through the halls, anxiety levels through the roof (or whatever passed as a roof on a starship). Now, calmed if not a little embarrassed, the situation was almost comical. Something that he would undoubtedly joke about in the mess hall and employ to tease Spock every so often.

The readings, thankfully, were just as he suspected: the captain was in good health, just suffering from a standard case of exhaustion. Stepping slightly away, Bones was about to suggest that he and Spock work together to move Jim to his bed.

But he was just a fraction too slow.

Spock had silently followed him to Jim’s side. Upon determining the doctor had completed his examinations, the Vulcan stepped behind the desk. Ever so gently, Spock slid one of Jim’s arms over his shoulders and guided the man to his feet, before bending down to lift him into his arms. The captain’s deadweight did not appear burdensome in any way

Bones could do nothing but watch as Spock carried the captain to his bed. He had an unplaceable, ambiguous expression on his face, one that Bones had never seen before.

The Vulcan’s exhibition of care was startlingly unusual. As if he’d done this hundreds of times, Spock softly set Jim down, readjusted the pillow beneath his head and brought the thin blanket up and over his sleeping form. It was all very methodical, with an air of tenderness.

He didn’t know why, but the doctor felt as if he were intruding on an incredible intimate moment between the two men.

Unexpectedly, he found he wasn’t surprised in the slightest by the first officer’s actions. He probably should have been. But it seemed so…normal.

Wisely, the doctor didn’t comment on the seemingly private nature of the exchange. And he decided that this would not be an event that he’d ever tease Spock about.

Ever.

There was something in the way Spock’s hand had lingered gently on Jim’s shoulder when he set him down, the loving look the taller man had been unable to hide from his usual statuesque expression.

If Bones didn’t know any better, he’d almost swear that Spock was having _feelings._


	3. The Darkest of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares were common for Jim, seeing all he'd seen. But there was one that he relived more frequently than all the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watched The Wrath of Khan for the first time and am still shook from Spock's death scene. This basically wrote itself. Enjoy!

Jim shot up in the dark, his heart in his throat. There were things he dreamed about more frequently than others, and this was unfortunately one his mind cruelly replayed. 

Over and over again.

At first, he hadn’t dreamt of it at all. Maybe it was because his reality had been worse than his nightmares. But then, like a creeping fog, it had settled in the corners of his subconscious and flickered maliciously to life. It assaulted his dreams with the cruel tinge of memory, never letting him escape those horrible minutes when his entire life seemed like it had ended...

_Jim pushes away from Bones and Scotty, his eyes glued to his friend inside the sealed chamber. He knows he should accept it, knows this to truly be a no-win scenario...and yet, he can’t._

_Stumbling, only half-aware, towards the glass, Jim presses his palms against the barrier. The one thing keeping them all safe. But it was the one thing keeping him from Spock._

_He can hear the desperate terror in his own voice as he speaks his first officer’s name._

_The taller man rises to his feet. It seems painful, and Jim wishes he could help, could lend a guiding hand._

_Spock straightens his uniform in typical fashion, and Jim almost loses the tenuous hold on his composure right then and there. Even in his final moments, his friend is still the composed professional._

_Only Jim is close enough to see that his hands are shaking._

_“Don’t grieve, Captain.”_

_A promise Jim knows he can’t keep._

_“The needs of the many, outweigh…”_

_“The needs of the few.”_

Damn your Vulcan stubbornness, your unfailing logicality.

_“Or the one.”_

But you shouldn’t be the one, Spock. You can’t be.

_Jim’s heart is ripping in two as he notices the lines of pain around his friend’s dark eyes, the way his knees slowly begin to shake and give out._

_A white gloved hand presses against the glass and Jim wants nothing more than to be able to touch him. To comfort him._

_Spock falls in slow motion, crumbling to the floor. Jim follows with heartbreak weighing heavily in his limbs, willing back the tears that threaten to break free._

_“_ _I have been…”_

_The strain in his usual calm baritone settles like a cold knot in Jim’s stomach._

_“And always shall be, your friend.”_

_There’s a sad smile on Spock’s face, and he knows. He knows what’s happening. And so does Jim. _

_But it’s too soon._

_Too fast._

_Too much._

_Now, an ungloved hand presses against the glass, fingers divided in the Vulcan salute._

_“Live long. And prosper.”_

_Placing his own hand against the barrier, Jim wants desperately to be able to feel the warmth from those long fingers. Wants to be able to hold Spock while he still can, tell him the things he aches so desperately to reveal. His eyes scream that he needs him, that he isn’t ready to say goodbye._

_He’s never felt a pain like this before, never known the raw agony of helplessness, the surging sea of despair._

_Even as Spock drops the rest of the way to the floor, Jim still presses against the glass._

_Because it can’t be true._

_Those profound brown eyes couldn’t be closed forever. The science station couldn’t go unmanned. His best friend couldn’t be gone._

_All else around him fades away. No one moves, no one dares even to breathe in the suffocating silence. It’s as if the whole world has stopped now that Spock’s heart did; nothing else matters._

_Jim sits on the unforgiving floor, staring into the distance, a gaping hole torn into the fabric of his life..._

Even now, so many years later, it still haunted him. Those heart shattering seconds that seemed to go too quickly but also never end. A terrifying reminder of the fragility of life. It could slip through your fingers like sand, unstoppable and all too easily.

Jim ran a hand through his graying hair and waited patiently for his heart to stop racing. 

His eyes flicked over to the man lying next to him. Thankfully Spock was still asleep, a peaceful expression on his face, unperturbed by Jim’s sudden awakening. He was tempted for a moment to wake his husband up, but refrained. Jim knew it was just a dream, no matter how real it still felt. He knew that Spock was alive and well, older now and grayer, but alive. 

With a sigh, Jim realized sleep would elude him the rest of the night. As it always did after reliving that memory. 

The steady sound of Spock’s breathing brought Jim a semblance of comfort in their darkened room.


	4. The One Where Bones "Finds Out"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's embarrassed, Spock's hurt, and Bones is dropping some f-bombs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A random piece of dialogue jumped to my mind and I felt compelled to write a story around it. It made me laugh just thinking about it, so I figured you all might enjoy it, too. Just a quick little snippet, with probably some grammar/spelling snafus and inconsistencies. Forgive me, enjoy! 
> 
> Warning: some language (blame my curse-word loving Bones hc)!

“What in sweet holy hell happened?!”

Jim readjusts Spock’s weight on his arm as the taller man unconsciously straightens at the inquiry. Pasting on a relaxed grin, the captain tries to come up with a believable lie. He’d been so worried about getting Spock to sick bay, that he actually hadn’t prepared any sort of excuse…at least not one Bones would believe.

“Right. Uhh. Well. You see, Bones. We were, umm, just playing…chess…”

The doctor quirks up an eyebrow. Embarrassment drips from Jim’s stuttered words. _Chess my foot_. 

A snarky retort jumps immediately to Bones’ mind, and he figures he’ll have a little—no, a _lot_ of fun teasing his friend. But before he can begin his planned needling, Spock graciously interrupts.

“We were in the bedroom.”

Jim smacks a hand loudly against his forehead.

_If there was ever a time for you to bend the truth, Spock..._

“The _bedroom_.”

Spock nods in confirmation as Bones crosses his arms, hiding a smile. The captain groans loudly.

“Yes, Doctor, the bedroom. I fell off the bed.”

“You...I’m sorry, you did what, Spock?”

The doctor was having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that Spock did something so...ungraceful. As for the Vulcan, he looked a touch miffed at having to further explain himself. 

“Affirmative. I miscalculated where the edge of the bed was--a rather unique experience as I am unaccustomed to having my equilibrium so easily lost--and landed on the floor.” 

Bones tries not to find it so amusing that with every word, Jim grows increasingly more and more uncomfortable. He’s fidgeting and avoiding eye contact, absorbed with inspecting his boots. 

“Despite the uncomfortable landing, I assessed I have merely rolled my right ankle and bumped my head. The captain insisted we come down here, which I did not believe to be necessary.”

At that, Jim releases a frustrated huff. 

“Only you could fall off the bed, Spock, and manage to injure yourself. Jim, I presume you were…?”

Bones gestures vaguely towards his friend, a mischievous glint in his eye and a teasing tone to his words. 

“The captain was with me in the bedroom. I thought I made that clear, Doctor.”

Spock spoke these words as if they were the most obvious and unassuming thing in the world. Jim could only shut his eyes. He’d hoped to make this a short visit to sick bay, without any prying questions or uncovered secrets. What’s more, he _really_ hadn’t planned on telling anyone just yet, especially not when they had only just started...

“Fucking idiots. And I mean that in both connotations of the phrase.”

Desperately, Jim hopes that his face isn’t as red as he feels like it is. He unconsciously tightens his grasp on Spock’s arm.

“Uhh, Bones-”

The doctor holds up a hand.

“We’ll get back to what I imagine to be your _riveting_ explanation in just a moment. Now, let me have a look at our smiling patient.”

Tactfully avoiding Bones’ inquiring gaze, Jim helps Spock to the nearest biobed. 

The first officer wears a thoughtful expression, one eyebrow canted towards the ceiling. As he settles on the bed, and before the doctor can begin his ministrations, the Vulcan decides to voice his question.

“Both connotations, Doctor? Though familiar with your vernacular, I am rather perplexed by your use of this phrase.”

The captain can once again feel heat rising in his cheeks. 

Bones chuckles to himself and appraises Spock, drawing delight from Jim’s apparent embarrassment and Spock’s insatiable curiosity. 

“Well, Mr. Spock. Allow me to explain it to you. I meant the phrase to mean two separate things. Firstly, you both are fucking _idiots_ , as in ridiculously stupid. That lame excuse you walked in here with Jim is a case in point. And second, you are also _fucking_ idiots, as in dumbasses who are spending quality time in the bedroom not engaging in safe for work activities.”

Jim wanted to crawl inside his shirt and die. It seems he knew...but leave it to his friend to put it ever so crudely.

“Bones, I don’t think the colorful language is strictly necessary…”

The look the man shoots at Jim has him biting his tongue. Bones snatches a tricorder from a nearby counter, and proceeds to pass it expertly over Spock, continuing his gruff, albeit amused, rant.

“So. Speaking as your doctor, this better be the first and _last_ bedroom injury I get from either of you.” 

Spock flushes a light shade of green at the comment and Jim pulls uncomfortably at his collar. Stepping back, Bones points the tricorder at Jim accusingly.

“A quick side note. _Chess_ , Jim? _Really_? With how much practice you’ve had in the excuses department, I expected a whole lot better.” 

He shakes his head as he removes Spock’s boot, bending over to check the slightly swollen appendage.

“Now. Speaking as your friend. In what I imagine is a shocking revelation: you two _aren’t_ as sneaky as you might think you are. This ol’ country doctor wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”

Jim has the decency to look flustered.

“Bones, I…”

The doctor stands and glances between the two men. They really did think they’d kept it a secret until now. 

_How adorable._

“Jim, while you two may think no one knows, _we all do_. And,” he throws the pair a wide grin, “we’re all happy for you.” 


	5. You're In My Veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green: a color between blue and yellow. 
> 
> Or between command gold and science blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These drabbles have been very fun so far, and I'm just really enjoying practicing writing and challenging myself to get something down every day or so! They make me happy and I hope they might do the same for some of you. 
> 
> Without further ado: No plot, no action, no nothing really. Just a short little peek into what Jim might think of the color green...

Green was a beautiful color.

It reminded him of Earth. Living things. The trees, leaves, grass. It was the jade hue of natural existence. Unfortunately, Jim found that it wasn’t as prevalent in the dark corners of space and on the planets they’d visited; it merely populated visual allusions or imagined mirages--for the human’s benefit--by some all-powerful alien species.

It wasn’t real.

When it did surround him, as it did in Hikaru’s botanist paradise or in the arboretum, Jim felt more at peace. The color calmed him, teased away his fears. Brought him comfort.

He especially loved it on Spock.

It was so elegant, brushing Spock’s high cheekbones and pointed ears when he blushed. Which didn’t happen often enough, but Jim did his best.

There was nothing illusory about the color when it came to his first officer. It was his life force, thrumming beneath his skin, pumping his heart in his side. Strong and powerful. Real.

He found it mesmerizing to trace the veins beneath Spock’s pale skin, emerald rivulets branching and swimming every which way. They, like the thin lines on the man’s palms, the crease between his upturned eyebrows, were the map of his life. Whispers of that olive color were penciled startlingly on the inside of Spock’s wrists and elbows. Similar to humans in such a way, and yet the Vulcan was infinitely more beautiful.

Jim could trace these imperfectly perfect patterns for the rest of his days. At first, that had been a mere fantasy, a day dream he’d kept locked away in his mind. But now it was his incredible reality. The two had cautiously approached the idea of skin to skin contact at the advent of their relationship; the first time had washed them in such profound emotion that it had left them breathless and reeling. Jim had been afraid Spock would shy away from it after that. Instead, surprising them both, the Vulcan had admitted he craved the sensation—the ecstasy of fireworks, the electrical buzz that such a connection brought.

Spock always had to suppress a shudder when Jim would kiss the delicate inside of his wrist, right atop the breathtaking design of pulsating green lines.

Green was the color of life, of possibility, of hope. It promised adventure and wonder, possessed ethereality and regality. It was stunning.

And then sometimes Jim hated the color.

Hated its harshness, the way it sucked in light and extinguished all desire. It could be cruel and overpowering.

When the green blood would flow freely from Spock’s veins, coating the side of his face, matting his hair, gushing from a wound in his stomach, Jim found himself filled with rage.

Choking on his hatred of the color.

Green wasn’t supposed to be _this_ green; it wasn’t supposed to exist anywhere but beneath Spock’s beautiful skin. Out here it was loss and futility…

It was supposed to glide beneath ivory, to keep Spock alive.

Sometimes it was the most beautiful color he’d ever seen in all his many years. Other times he could hardly stand the sight.

It belonged in the trees, on the earth, in the lush valleys. It belonged atop rolling hills and dense forests. Within Spock’s veins.

Full of life.

Making Jim felt like he’d come home.


	6. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Spock finally find a moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These saccharinely sweet scenes just will not leave me alone. So you all have to suffer with me.
> 
> And I am so happy to get back to these drabbles. Busy life things have kept me from writing for fun, but now I've finally got some time! 
> 
> Enjoy (:

When Jim’s bed had become _their_ bed was uncertain. But now it was definitely theirs.

Spock was propped up against the headboard, PADD illuminating his serene face. He scrolled through a favorite piece of terran literature, though that’s not exactly where his attention lay. As was occurring with greater frequency, and now quite instinctually, Spock found himself focused on the man lying on his chest.

It was Jim’s usual spot: half on top of his first officer and half off, head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

Pure heaven.

The captain loved laying here; it was the perfect position that allowed him to feel the ins and outs of Spock’s breathing, the steady beat of his heart in his side. He was also partial to the softness of the Vulcan robes that pressed against his cheek.

Here, he didn’t have to be the captain—the man in charge of a starship and her crew, responsible for hundreds of lives, whose decisions could as easily inspire peace as they could spark a war. Here he could relax. Here he could just _be._

Spock began to run lithe fingers through his hair, calming and gentle. Rhythmically coaxing him towards slumber.

The Vulcan liked the feel of Jim’s feathery locks and he knew his captain found it soothing.

Jim hummed softly and leaned into Spock’s touch.

The sensations of the hand in his hair, the warmth of the body beneath him, the cool fabric against his skin, grounded him. Made him feel at peace. Home.

Encircled by the warmth of his friend, tender affection swimming in the air, Jim could rest. He never slept better than when he fell asleep like this.

But he didn’t want to drift off just yet.

Even as his eyes kept slipping shut, Jim would push them back open because these were not the moment’s he felt like missing.

Or forgetting. 


	7. I Can See Clearly Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock brings Jim something he forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old married Spirk, old married Spirk. Don't you just love them? 
> 
> This is a quick little thing that probably needs some coherency edits (which will be done after sleep) but wanted to share because I can just *see* this happening in my head. 
> 
> Anywho, enjoy (:

Jim looked up from his PADD, squinting towards the door. He would know that voice anywhere, in any life, in any time…but it was much harder to focus his eyes on the tall figure than he cared to admit.

“Spock, what are you doing here? Your class isn’t for-”

He glanced towards his digital watch even though he knew he couldn’t read it.

“For approximately one hour, twenty-seven minutes, and thirty-three seconds, _ashayam_.”

A blurry version of his husband closed the distance between them.

It took a moment, but Jim realized that Spock was holding something out in front of him.

“This is the third time this week. I find it statistically improbable that you are forgetting them and are instead choosing to ignore the fact that you need them.”

 _Caught yet again_.

The retired admiral threw Spock a sheepish look.

“Aha. _Right_.” Jim held out his hand and grabbed the offending object.

He _hadn’t_ forgotten his glasses—he’d very purposefully left them on the bedside table. The last two times Spock brought them to his office before his class started, always with a knowing smile and a quirked-up eyebrow. This time though, it seemed he’d decided to call him on his obstinate decision.

Jim slid on the offered glasses. His surroundings came into rapid focus—the sharp edges and colors of his office, the lecture notes on the PADD sitting on his desk, the faint grey pattern of Spock’s shirt. All the things he’d been missing without them.

It was hard to admit that he needed glasses; they were such an obvious—a terribly _glaring_ —representation of his advancing age. Jim told himself that he couldn’t wear these and command a star ship; jumping between adventure and adventure, escaping danger by the skin of his teeth. He couldn’t wear these damned glasses and do all the things he loved doing…even if it _had_ been years since he'd retired, since he'd set foot in space.

Spock told him—in that soft, endearing way that still made Jim weak in the knees—that he thought they made him look distinguished.

Jim thought they made him look old.

With a resigned huff, Jim glanced up at his husband.

“Sometimes, I think you know me even better than I know myself,” he whispered into the space between them.

The comment earned him a raised brow and an adorable head tilt.

Tenderly, Jim brought up a hand and cupped Spock’s face. He delicately began to trace a thumb over the high cheekbone, feeling the familiar sensations of love and wonder and warmth pulsating through their bond. Jim could clearly distinguish the streaks of gray in his husband’s hair, the crinkling lines around his dark eyes, the billowing amusement hiding in the corner of his upturned mouth.

He knew that the passage of time could also be found in his own features.

They both weren’t the young men they had once been all those years ago. They were— _he_ was old. He might loathe his glasses, curse his allergy to Retinax V and grumble about the replacement sets that Bones constantly gave him when he conveniently “lost” his current pair. But, as he was unequivocally reminded, he needed them.

Maybe it was foolish to ignore that. Foolish to forget them, misplace them, and adamantly refuse to need them. Foolish to still hope for things that his glasses seemed successfully to prevent him from recapturing—his last vestiges of vigor and life…the jovial spring in his step, the twinkle of excitement in his eye, the promise of possibility in every new day.

Those manifestations of his youth, the memories of those feelings, were like the ghosts of his past. A past he hadn’t wanted to relinquish his hold of. His glasses, his age—interchangeable descriptors of an intangible idea that he feared, _hated_ , to his marrow. Wearing them meant his glory days were over…

And yet.

Maybe…maybe not.

Sure, the achievements of his youth were intoxicating to relive and yearn to recapture. But foregoing them and admitting he was getting on in years…maybe wasn’t such a bad thing.

Not really.

There were things he had now that he didn’t have back then...even if his eyesight wasn’t one of them.

Jim trailed his hand up and smoothed down Spock’s hair, even though it was as perfect as it was every other day. He let his touch linger at the nape of the taller man’s neck.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “I won’t forget them again. Promise.”

He would leave the adventures and untapped dangers of space to the youngsters. He didn’t need those things any longer.

For what else could he hope to find in the endless expanses of space that would mean more than the man standing in front of him?


	8. Intellect and Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t understand what it is to live. Love and compassion are dead in you. You’re nothing but intellect.” 
> 
> Episode Tag 3x12, The Empath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just finished The Empath and felt inspired to write a little tag!! This is a quick little look into what Spock might be thinking post-episode events. Not very Spirk-y I'm afraid, but hope you enjoy anyways!

Spock heard the door to his room hiss open. Without turning around, he knew it was Jim. He silently finished arranging the chess pieces, certain that the game was not the only reason his friend had come to see him after their shift. 

He’d been too quiet on the bridge. And Jim had noticed, as he always did.

Their encounter with the Vians had proved most fascinating, though Spock’s mind remained preoccupied, interestingly, with the words of his friends. The good doctor mused how it was “good ol’ fashioned human emotion that they valued the most”. Mr. Scott, with amusement coloring his words, suggested to the first officer that the “Vulcans should hear about this”. Spock had responded with a rather sarcastic quip, drawing smiles and short chuckles from the group. But afterwards, as the ship carried them away from the dying star, he hadn’t been able to shake an odd sensation. It clenched painfully in his stomach and settled heavily in his chest. It followed him around, haunting his steps and nagging at his mind. 

It had taken him 60 seconds to register this peculiar tightening in his side and exactly 4 minutes and 11 seconds to determine why. 

His friend's words gnawed at him, seeming an itch he couldn't scratch, an annoying thrum vibrating along his subconscious. He knew exactly what those words had done.

They’d resurfaced a wound long since healed, or as healed as he could endeavor it to be.

It was, as it always had been, the constant struggle, the tenuous co-existence, between his Vulcan half and his human half. Today, it had once more been brought to center stage. 

For the longest time, he believed the emotions he’d received from his mother’s side had been weaknesses to be squashed. Suppressed. Ignored. And he had been mostly successful in this venture, rooting himself firmly in his Vulcan heritage.

But the Vians had done so, similarly, to their downfall.

It had been emotion, a human quality, that had prevailed. That had saved them.

Was there something to be said for this?

Spock found whenever he displayed emotion, he would label it as a momentary weakness. But was this truly accurate?

On the planet near the dying star, it had been logic, intellect, that had been the weakness. Not in its minute display but in its prevalence. Its dominance. It had blinded them.

Emotion had been the saving grace, the strength. The beacon of light in the storm.

Was this supposed to be some cosmic sign?

Some larger, greater influence reminding Spock of his two halves? Of the import and usefulness of their cooperation?

He had found himself acting emotionally on the planet—much more so than usual. Seeing his friends in pain often overrode his carefully constructed controls and composure.

Maybe, as the result on the planet had shown, that wasn’t _such_ a terrible thing…

“Spock?”

Jim’s voice shook Spock from his recollections and musings.

He turned to see his friend leaning in the doorway, a hesitant expression on his open face.

“Everything alright?”

Spock faltered, unsure just how to answer. The captain’s earlier words jumped to the forefront of his mind: _"Y_ _ou don’t understand what it is to live. Love and compassion are dead in you. You’re nothing but intellect."_

They’d been hurled at the Vians as a summation of their faults, revealing the fatal gap in their strict logic. While they hadn’t been said about him, he couldn’t deny how they’d tormented him in the time since. There was a time when those words would have rung terrifyingly true. Now? Now, Spock wasn’t so sure if he was more similar to the Vians or to the man standing in his quarters. Or which of those possibilities scared him more.

He was a product of two worlds; two cultures, two languages, two ways of existence. Choosing one over the other would prove to be _his_ downfall, ending the chess game of his life with a brutally swift checkmate.

Maybe he could— _should_ —be both.

Spock didn’t know how that would look, how he would broker the peace treaty between his rivaling halves. But it was the only way. The Vians were stark evidence of the dangers of his past aims.

Setting down the last chess piece, the taller man cleared his throat. He looked up imploringly at his best friend—the one man he trusted above any other, the one to whom he confided his past, his thoughts, his feelings…everything.

“Yes, Jim. I am alright.” Spock paused momentarily, before adding more softly, “I...understand what it is to live.”

At hearing those hushed words, Jim’s face softened. Without a second thought, the captain crossed to stand next to his first officer, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“I never doubted that for a minute, Mr. Spock.”

Startingly clear hazel eyes told the Vulcan that Jim’s words were true.

“Now,” Jim said with a small smile. “What say we have ourselves a game or two?”


	9. Rain is Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think Jim Kirk likes rainstorms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's rainy here and I love rainstorms so *gestures at the page* this tiny drabble came to pass. 
> 
> OOF this has been in my drafts for awhile because I don't l o v e it but...posting anyways! A Spirk-y chapter is in the works and should be posting shortlyyyy :D

Jim was on the balcony of his and Spock’s temporary quarters, sporting only a t-shirt and his pajama bottoms. San Francisco wasn’t exactly cold in winter, at least not compared to some of the planets he’d explored.

Maybe he should have been wearing a jacket. And possibly some shoes.

But then again, an umbrella would have been the most prudent.

Leaning against the railing, eyes closed and face raised towards the sky, Jim stood, unperturbed, in the middle of a rainstorm.

He liked the feel of the droplets hitting his face.

This was something he’d missed. He loved existing amidst the chaos of a storm, the downpour cleansing and cleaning. Washing everything away—stress, worries, bad thoughts, painful memories. Things you desperately wanted to forget.

After a storm you were left purified. A blank sheet of paper. A fresh start.

It was humbling, too, bearing witness to nature’s unmitigated power. You were small compared to the beating wind, the patchwork of brooding clouds, the incessant sheets of rain. It was no small guess as to why civilizations for thousands of years attributed the changes in weather and season to acts of mighty gods. It was otherworldly. It was uncontainable.

He could feel a chill begin to set in his bones. His t-shirt and pants were soaked clean through, sticking to his skin. Returning to the warmth of the apartment, putting on one of Spock’s sweaters and curling up in bed, was an alluring thought.

In a moment or two, though.

Jim didn’t want to go in _just_ yet.

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he focused on the feel of each large drop hitting his face, chest, arms, and legs. The cold splash. The trickling line it traced over his skin. The shiver down his spine. Over and over again.

Rainy days always reminded him of this place, of San Francisco.

Of Earth. _Home._

There was something familiar about them, comforting almost.

Sunny days were wonderful, but rain was magical. Nothing quite like the sound of it hitting your roof at night or the rippling puddles it left on the city streets. It had a way of making everything sparkle and shimmer. It provided the aura of newness, of fresh starts, and of clarity—grounding you in the present moment. Making you feel startlingly alive.

He could never replace this feeling. And he’d yet to find something equal to it in all the far corners of space.

Jim wagered he looked certifiably crazy standing, unmoving, in the middle of this winter deluge. If Spock got back when he was out here, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to explain just _what_ he was doing. But the Vulcan had one last lecture to attend to that afternoon. Jim still had plenty of time to dry off and make them some tea before Spock got home.

He’d go inside.

In a minute.

But right then he just wanted to sit and feel the rain on his skin and not think about anything but the storm around him.


	10. Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you teach me some Vulcan?"
> 
> Sure, an innocent question. But will it have innocent results?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's flirty Spirk time, ya'll. Used some web sources for the Vulcan translations so hopefully they are good to go! That should show you how deeply I have immersed myself into this show, I googled Vulcan language and read all about it for like three hours lol. Enjoy (:

Jim looked over at the man lying on the bed next to him. Spock was truly breathtaking. He was...he was _perfect_ and Jim didn’t know what trick of fate, alignment of the stars, or happy accident occurred to get him to this moment. But he did know he’d never take it for granted.

Sidling up closer, Jim brought his knees up and tucked himself flush against Spock. He had a terribly wicked idea, spurred on by the fact that Spock had been ignoring him for the last several minutes in favor of reviewing a draft of his daily report.

“Psst. Spock?”

The Vulcan hummed, his focus still on the PADD in his hands. Jim poked his arm.

“I have a favor to ask.”

That earned him a quick glance.

“Anything, _ashayam_.”

Jim smiled at the purred response as he lazily placed his hand on Spock’s leg. Though the man’s eyes had drifted back to the lit screen, Jim was convinced his attention wouldn’t be there for long.

“Can you teach me some Vulcan?”

Spock paused. He clicked off his PADD and fixed Jim with a curious stare, eyebrow slanting upwards. “You took the required language courses at the Academy, Jim. I fail to see how you do not have a rudimentary grasp of it already.”

Ignoring the slightly miffed tone, the captain added an innocent quality to his voice.

“Well yes, I know some stuff of course. But my teacher wasn’t you.”

“That much is quite obvious, Jim,” Spock countered, the perplexity in his gaze growing. “There is no logical way I could have been your instructor as-”

“What’s the word for this?” 

Jim cut him off by gently squeezing the hand he’d placed on Spock’s thigh.

The Vulcan eyed him suspiciously.

“Leg. _Mal_. But where your hand is would more accurately be described as _abru-mal_.”

“Okay so what’s...this?” Jim lazily traced his hand down to settle over Spock's knee. 

“ _Mal…nef. Mal-nef._ ”

Spock’s voice wavered slightly this time. Anyone unfamiliar with his mannerisms and conduct wouldn’t notice the change, the tightly clipped words and breathless lilt. But Jim did. He watched as the taller man swallowed thickly, a green blush rising to his cheeks.

“And what about...this?”

Jim's hand moved to lightly hold Spock’s elbow.

“ _Kar-nef._ ”

Intensity bubbled in the air between them as Jim trailed his fingers up and over Spock’s arm until they rested on his exposed collarbone. Spock’s dark eyes were piercing.

“And this?”

“ _Dol-,_ ” Spock cleared his throat. “ _Dol-hinek_.”

Jim could feel how warm Spock’s skin was beneath his fingertips. The words falling off his tongue were foreign but beautiful, woven with strong sounds and musical inflections. Jim was quite certain neither one of them was actually breathing anymore. 

“This one?”

The captain touched the tip of a pointed ear.

Spock didn’t answer immediately, clenching and unclenching his jaw a few times.

“ _Kaluk_.”

Jim's flirtations were merciless. But he couldn’t help it. He so very much enjoyed the effect he had on Spock, loved the suggestiveness and teases and temptations. Undoing him with a simple look or a brief touch. Diving beneath his composed exteriors to the cavernous wonders within. 

Now, Spock was putting up a good fight. The man hadn't given in; he was still wound impossibly tight, desperately clinging to his rigidity and control.

Both of which were diminishing rather rapidly.

“Umm and…this?”

The pad of Jim’s thumb delicately trailed across Spock’s lower lip, eliciting a strangled sound from the Vulcan’s throat.

“ _Bru-lar_.”

“Bru…Lar.”

After a moment, Spock managed to form coherent words. 

“That was a...fair pronunciation, _ashayam_." 

“I’m a quick study,” Jim murmured, thumb still brushing across Spock's lip.

“ _Bath'paik_ ,” the Vulcan ground out somewhere between a growl and a moan. “I am certain you conduct yourself in this manner on purpose.”

Jim grinned mischievously. 

“You know me so well.”

A raging fire danced in Spock's intense stare. He swallowed thickly before raising a hand up to encircle Jim’s own, gently pulling it far enough away to press a long kiss to the middle of the man's palm.

Jim didn’t dare breathe. Passion flooded his senses and painted his cheeks red with desire.

“That is accurate,” Spock mused huskily. “However,” a wicked gleam blossomed in the darks of his eyes, “I intend to know you _much_ better.”

The PADD remained successfully ignored for the rest of the night, tossed none too delicately to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (if any of you were curious, took them from the Vulcan Language Dictionary)-  
> Ashayam: beloved  
> Mal: leg  
> Abru-mal: thigh, or upper leg  
> Mal-nef: knee  
> Kar-nef: elbow  
> Dol-hinek: collarbone, or clavicle  
> Kaluk: ear  
> Bru-lar: lips  
> Bath'paik: "damn you"


	11. Say My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's in a name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read this tumblr post about how Jim says Spock vs. Mister Spock, and then how Spock says Captain professionally vs. romantically...and so this little drabble sprang up out of no where lol. Enjoy!

_**Spock** _

There was a way in which people said his name, an indiscernible quality that made it feel entirely Vulcan. _Spock._ They said it quickly, concisely. Unemotionally. Usually with a “Mister” in front of it, sounding like a mathematical equation or an unwavering rule of logic.

And then one day Jim Kirk said it.

For some reason, that made all the difference.

It was as if the starship captain was born to say his name. 

To speak it in different tones and tongues and times. 

A quiet relief. A sigh on the wind.

A trusting promise. 

A worried question.

Lilts and emphasis changing with every emotion.

Jim managed to say his name like no one else.

It wasn’t just hurried or unfeeling; it was meaningful and compassionate and enthralling. Even with the courteous “Mister” placed in front of it, Jim never made it feel impersonal. How did every ounce of his love fit themselves into those short echoes?

With every new utterance, Spock felt a layer of his hidden humanity unveiled—peeling back the layers of his composure to reveal the innermost version of himself, the emotions he fought so hard to suppress. When his name fell from Jim’s lips it felt impossibly _right_ , speaking into existence who he was really meant to be. It managed to perfectly capture his true essence, his marriage of Vulcan and human qualities—a starkly clear reflection of his soul. 

It was just a name, it wasn’t supposed to be so instantly evocative, make him weak and flushed and dizzy with things he’d never allowed himself to feel before.

Jim Kirk undid him, wound him up and unraveled him all too easily.

When his captain said his name, Spock felt like that was the way it was always supposed to sound…

_**Jim** _

Everyone called him Captain. It was the rank he earned, the rank he wore with humbling pride and heavy responsibility. Everyone said it in a similar way—regardless of the underlying emotions or circumstances.

Everyone but Spock.

Jim didn’t know how his first officer managed to say his rank, and less frequently his name, in such a _Spock_ way. 

How else to describe it?

There were times on the bridge, anxiety palpable and tensions high, times that tested his leadership and level head, times when Spock would utter that one word. _Captain_. It grounded him, comforted him. With two syllables it managed to remind Jim that he’d earned the trust of everyone on board, that he was more than capable of seeing them through this current danger.

Then there were other times, quiet moments over chess or walking the empty halls, when Spock said it as though it were imbued with all the things—the feelings—he was unable to say. Dare Jim say it was…romantic? Almost...loving? 

In these moments, Spock said it in such a way that Jim was certain his friend wished he could say _more_. More than just his rank or his name.

Within those whispered sounds lived the feelings he hid so deeply, the symphony of his soul.

A quiet prayer.

Respectful and measured, but with hints of affection.

An uncertain admission.

Hesitant but earnest.

A revelation, a vow.

Filled with love and longing and something Jim couldn’t quite put his finger on.

When Spock said _Captain_ , with the things left unspoken far outweighing the syllables he’d uttered, Jim felt like his whole body would explode, his heart fluttering.

When Spock said _Jim_ , he was flying amongst the stars, laughter floating like bubbles throughout every fiber of his being, overwhelmingly joyous.

He ached for those moments when Spock allowed himself to feel, to show. Accepting both sides of himself. Not hiding the emotion from the name that fell from his lips. All the complexities and perfections and idiosyncrasies of his best friend condensed into one syllable: _Jim._

The captain guessed that Spock may never truly divulge all the chaos that swirled beneath his cool exterior. The rare glimpses Jim had soaked up—quenching some unknown thirst—had been given with unfailing trust. Maybe one day he would be privileged enough to see _all_ of Spock. To learn just why he said _Captain_ and _Jim_ in the ways he did.

In ways that intoxicated him and left him breathless.

Like all that existed in all the galaxies was just them and the way they spoke each other’s names.


	12. Wanna Bet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Enterprise crew aren't sure if Captain Kirk and Spock are dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Challenged myself today to write one not solely focused on Spock and Jim’s perspectives...lol. Don’t particularly like the way it turned out but I do really like this idea. So hope you all enjoy!

The atmosphere was conspiratorial. Four heads all leaned in, whispering excitedly over nearly empty mess trays.

“I’m tellin’ the lot of ye, it’s true!”

Sulu and Chekov exchanged disbelieving looks. 

“Come on Scotty!” Sulu scoffed amidst the din of the crowded room. “There’s no way!”

“I’m with the Scotsman on this one, gents. You’d have to be blind not to see it!” Uhura countered, toying with one green earring.

“But ven did it start?”

Chekov’s query was met with contemplative silence. After a moment, the four companions all looked at one another and shrugged. It was anybody’s guess— _when_ was much more difficult to establish than the simple _yes_ or _no_ of the previous matter. 

Before any proposed predictions could be made, however, someone interrupted.

“Well, well, well!” Bones set down his tray and looked around. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you all were gossiping. So just whom are we discussing on this particular occasion?” 

Sulu blushed, Uhura bit her lip, and Scotty had the decency to look embarrassed. Chekov was the only one who didn’t seem the least bit concerned with the new addition.

“Ve vere just chatting about vether ve tink Meester Spock and ze Keptin are dating!”

“Hey!”

“Chekov!”

“Shh!”

Bones stared hard at his friends who tried, and failed, to shush the unwitting young ensign. 

“Vat? It’s not like it’s a secret!” Chekov yelped, as he held up his hands defensively. 

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, the country doctor took the last empty seat next to Uhura. He pointedly looked at each of his friends.

“You all are slower than molasses in winter,” he declared.

“Do ye know somethin’ we dinna know, McCoy?”

Unable to suppress a chuckle, the southern man pointed his fork at Scotty.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t bet _against_ it.”

“A bet!” Uhura clapped her hands together with a mischievous grin. “Now _that’s_ an excellent idea!”

Excitedly, the communications officer and senior engineer began establishing rules for the game, deciding it best to stick to whether or not they were in fact dating—leaving the _when_ question for a future gambling rendezvous.

Between her enthusiasm and Scotty’s animated assistance, people at adjoining tables began to take note of the group’s discussion. Little by little they swiveled their attention with piqued interest, the clamor in the mess gradually waning as more and more crew members wandered over. There were a few questions about what the bet could be about, with craned necks and curious gazes, and it seemed almost impossible to keep the conversation under wraps any longer.

Uhura sheepishly made eye contact with Bones. But instead of the grumpy look she had been expecting, she found the doctor wore a rather amused expression on his face.

In a loud, important voice, Scotty started to describe the debate. It was undecided whether or not the captain and the first officer were an official item, and bets were now being placed: dating or not dating.

Excited murmuring immediately shot through the crowd, electrifying the mess with conversation and predictions. People quickly took sides, throwing out evidence and placing ever escalating bets.

Two yeomen heatedly argued about the “backrub incident”. A group of engineers alternated throwing out examples of _pointed_ eye contact—something that neither the captain nor the science officer ever seemed to similarly share with anybody else. Chekov and Scotty began wagering their alcohol supplies in valiant defense of their respective positions; while Sulu listened to Uhura’s compelling analysis of the two men’s frequent physical touch and proximity, growing more and more convinced as the seconds passed.

Throughout it all, the chief medical officer ate his food quietly, watching the din in the room grow ever livelier, more raucous, and more animated. The fact was obvious enough to him, and it seemed like to a few of his friends as well. How the entire ship hadn’t guessed it yet, he would never know. But one thing he was certain of was that the crew members betting on platonic relationship over romantic were going to lose most heavily—the smuggled alcohols and the extra shifts they were betting were “money down the drain” in his opinion. You’d have to be blind _and_ an idiot to wager _only_ friends.

Rather comically, and almost instantaneously, all conversation ceased.

It was as if someone had pressed the pause button; everyone stopped mid gesture, words died unspoken on tongues, eyes boggling and embarrassment rising.

Bones tried not to choke on his last bite of replicated cornbread as he realized why: Jim and Spock had just walked together into the mess hall.

The two officers, the single source of entertainment for the past several minutes and the topic on which bets were increasingly becoming more ostentatious, quickly picked up on the awkward tension. 

“Well, Mr. Spock. It seems we’ve stumbled into the middle of some riveting conversation. About which I think the topic was _us_.”

The Vulcan glanced neutrally around the room before nodding his agreement.

“That is a most logical assumption, Captain.”

Striding confidently the rest of the way into the mess hall, Jim announced good naturedly, “Please, don’t stop on our account! It seemed to be… _quite_ the discussion.”

He and Spock snagged their trays, all eyes in the room still fixed on the two men. 

After several more painfully uncomfortable moments, the group slowly broke apart.

A quiet murmuring began to ebb in the room, whispered worries skipping between cliques about whether the captain and first officer had overheard the highly personal topic of deliberation. But they gave no indication they had. With an air of normalized nonchalance, the pair grabbed their lunches from the replicator and made their way, side by side, towards an open table. Just like any other day.

Passing near their friends, Jim paused. Leaning down, and making eye contact with each of them, he innocently offered, “I hope none of you bet no.”

The wink he threw them had Sulu spluttering out his drunk, Uhura giggling behind her hand, Scotty slapping his knee in victory, and Chekov shaking his head morosely at the thought of losing his secret stash of vodka.

With a satisfied smirk, Bones pointed around the table.

“Like I said, I wouldn’t bet against it!”

Spock merely offered a loud exhale and a roll of his eyes in response, eliciting boisterous laughter from the small group.

Word got out about the captain’s “confirmation” as it were, which only served to further stoke the fires of the rumor mill. Understandably, the two senior officers became the primary topic of discussion for the next several weeks.

Much to Spock’s chagrin and Jim’s amused delight.


	13. Let Me Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small tag to "Operation Annihilate", 1x29.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another Tumblr post making me feel some type of way. Quick little drabble about some emotions that Spock and Jim might be feeling during the scene in sick bay. Enjoy!

“ _Let me help_ ,” Spock forced out past the pain that inundated his senses and tested every element of his control. 

He’d selected these words specifically. On the one hand, they were used as their general definitions implied...on the other, he meant them to be something more. 

The captain was a well-educated man, well read, and so he should pick up on the underlying message, the things Spock was unable to voice. They were three words that appeared normal on the surface, yet underneath they were used to mean something else entirely. 

Taking the place of a different three words. 

Saying it without truly saying it, without laying it out plainly in black and white. 

He desperately hoped Jim understood. That he got his message. Expressed when he knew the odds of his survival were low, when there were so many things left undone and emotions left unshared; this, his final admission, might show Jim how he truly felt. 

It would have been nice to let those words tumble from his lips as he gazed into the hazel pools of Jim's eyes. To see how he reacted, see the spark of recognition in their depths, as he connected those strangled words to the theme of a novel from years gone by.

Did his captain realize all he was telling him?

Beneath the agonizing pain, the constant battle he was waging to maintain control, there was an emotion thrumming strong and unyielding.

If he knew the right way to verbalize it, Spock would have done so. But he didn’t. So he uttered those three words instead of the three he ached to say. 

When he said _let me help_ , what Spock truly meant was _I love you_.

\----

Jim’s heart broke at Spock’s plea.

_Let me help._

Those words stirred something deep in the captain’s mind, a flickering memory that had previously been too painful to revisit. On the Earth of the past, Jim had explained to Edith how a novelist would decide to define that phrase. Walking amongst the quiet streets illuminated by shop windows, he told her the writer would recommend it even over “I love you".

As a signal of one’s deepest devotions and desires. 

The heart’s declaration of everlasting affection. 

A phrase so simple and plain, yet it encompassed the wish to be everything to another person. To aid and support, no matter the cost or burden. To ask of someone to share their life, their pain, so that two may more easily carry the weight of one. 

It was a selfless way of expressing the truest love. 

_Let me help._

Jim didn't dare draw connections between Spock's word choice and what he'd told Edith. His heart couldn't bear it.

Hesitating for only a moment, the captain replied, “ _I need you, Spock_.” 

It was an honest response, woven with masked meaning.

Even though Jim wanted to say more, to tell his first officer all he was feeling and all he had kept hidden for so long. Even as he asked Bones to do anything to save Spock and his nephew, with torment dripping from his voice and reflected on his lined face. Even as he wanted to shrug off the mantle of responsibility to be by Spock’s side; stay by him, give him a semblance of solace, of comfort. Even as he lingered in sick bay, unable to tear his eyes from the man lying in front of him, the undercurrents of agony in his friend's usually smooth baritone echoing cruelly in his mind. 

There were things he left unvoiced. 

When Jim said _I need you_ , what he really meant was _I love you_.


	14. Stressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a bad day. No, a very bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to look at a little moment, not a grand gesture or big proclamation. And this is what came of it. So, enjoy!

Jim slumped back against the now closed door to his quarters.

There were so many things he loved about space and being in command of a starship: the adventures and excitement, eluding danger, new discoveries. 

But today...today would not rank highly on that list. Today had been a monumentally _terrible_ day...

It all started with an interminable meeting concerning the proper footwear addendums for alien species—a highly detailed uniform regulation that Jim had struggled to care about. For over two hours, it snowballed and weaved and circled, never actually getting anywhere and not actually achieving anything.

With every minute that had passed, Jim swore he heard yet another nail being driven into his coffin.

Why he was on the call, he didn’t know. 

Why command wanted his opinion, he couldn’t fathom. 

Why they decided today of all days to review this regulation was absolutely beyond him.

The captain had finally emerged from the call with a splitting headache and a renewed hatred of regulations.

Naturally, it only got worse. 

The cup of coffee he’d snagged on his way to the bridge had been cold, so he’d perched it on the armrest of his chair in favor of fielding questions, resolving minor issues that needed his attention, and signing the plethora of PADDs shoved in his face.

Which hadn’t been the _best_ place to put it.

Hindsight was 20/20 after all.

When his elbow inevitably tipped the full cup, he’d clumsily reached for it, not wanting the contents to splash all over the bridge floor.

Instead, they spilled all over his uniform.

Jim had leapt to his feet, wiping furiously at his shirt and pants. His face a comical shade of red, there were a few choice words that immediately jumped to his mind, ones he desperately wanted to shout at the top of his lungs.

But he’d decided they weren't very "captain-like".

Lunch might have been comical if not for his peeved temperament. He’d gone with Sulu to the mess, hoping the quick break would do him some good. Instead, he'd watched with growing annoyance as the replicator kept spitting out salad. Nothing. But. Salad.

After three plates he had finally given up. Ignoring Sulu’s stifled laughter, Jim determined that this had to all be Bones’ doing—something related to their recent discussion about his diet and getting on in years. Which only served to make him madder.

A dark cloud over his head, he’d deposited the overflowing green plates in front of Spock and left with grumbles beneath his breath and a storm cloud over his head.

Near the end of the shift, an emergency in engineering diverted his focus from the overflowing amount of PADDs he still had to review. He’d jogged briskly to the lift, tossing commands over his shoulder to Spock and Uhura. On any other day, it might have proven to be a welcome respite from the deluge of reports. A nice distraction.

And then the lift had spluttered to a stop.

He was stuck.

No amount of cursing, pacing, or smacking of the control pad had helped.

It had taken much too long to get him out of the stalled elevator, which not only plummeted his mood to new depths, but also set him inordinately behind in his work.

Some hours later, and still wading through PADDs, Jim knew it was going to be a long night. He had sent a message to Spock with a heavy sigh. It was the first time in a long time that he’d missed their scheduled nightly chess match, and didn’t want the Vulcan waiting up for him...

Pushing away from his door, Jim calculated he only had six hours before his shift started anew. Hopefully enough time to get some shut eye and reset his mood, which was still down lost somewhere in the trenches of irritation.

For a moment, he was tempted to see if Spock was still awake. He desperately wanted to hear the calming sound of his first officer’s voice; he liked diving into it and submerging himself in its affection. It always made him feel relaxed, at peace.

But it was late. Very late.

Spock may not be asleep, but he was assuredly meditating.

Jim would just have to see him tomorrow.

Collapsing back into his desk chair, the captain massaged the tension rooted at the bridge of his nose. His eyes slipped shut and he finally relented to his bone-deep weariness.

The day—the awful, long, excruciating day—was over.

They couldn’t all be perfect, and thankfully they didn’t all end this way. Tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow…

Suddenly, a pleasant smell coaxed him from his musings.

Raising his head slightly and opening his eyes, Jim scanned for the source with a confused frown.

Nearby, in the dim light, the captain saw a cup on his desk. Jim didn’t know how he missed it before.

Pulling it nearer, he let the first smile of the day grace his lips. 

It was tea. 

The same spiced, dark brew he’d told Spock was his favorite of the kinds the Vulcan kept in stock in his quarters. He’d said it so offhand, he didn’t think his first officer was paying any attention. Let alone would remember.

It was still steaming. And exactly what he needed. 

Taking a sip, he let the liquid warm him from the inside out. It flooded every bit him of him; wrapping him in coziness, chipping away at his prickly exterior, and thawing the frustration that he’d carried around all day.

Jim smiled again. He didn’t know when his friend had put it here, or how he’d ensured it would be the perfect temperature.

But maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the worst day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't get this particular scene out of my head. Jim growing increasingly flustered throughout the day only to come back to his room to a cup of tea Spock left him? The small familiar comfort of it, the married vibes of it. Ugh. Just had to share. Hope you guys liked it!


	15. The Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the little things, especially when it comes to Jim showing Spock he loves him without saying so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And oh, what's this? Another Tumblr post making me feel some kind of way? No one should be surprised now. Super short and very stream of consciousness this time. Enjoy!

It wasn’t a particularly important or significant sort of day. But when Jim and Spock entered their apartment after walking through the crisp autumn evening, he’d noticed Spock kept his coat on for a little longer than usual.

That night as he lay in bed, listening to Spock’s rhythmic breathing while he meditated nearby, Jim remembered reading somewhere that as Vulcans age, they become more sensitive to the cold.

They already kept all the rooms on the warmer side, even though Spock insisted he was fine with regular human conditions. And even warmer still during the rainy and chilly months between October and March.

Not wanting to disturb Spock’s meditation, Jim didn’t mention anything about it.

But he decided that he’d do everything he could to keep his husband warm.

He started accumulating a random assortment of blankets; stowing them around the house in case Spock should ever want one and none too secretively throwing one around his shoulders as he sat on the couch or on the patio outside.

He turned the temperature controls up another two degrees, and set the system to maintain Spock’s private study at a balmy 95.

He made it a habit of always keeping hot water in the kettle, as he was often reminded that a steaming cup of tea could cure most ills.

And he found little reasons—spur of the moment gifts, silly anniversaries, holidays and birthdays and the like—to gift him warm clothes. Heavy coats and flowing cloaks, scarves, even hats, to help combat the temperate San Francisco climate.

If Spock began to notice a pattern, he never mentioned it. He’d just survey the dark earth tones of the particular article and send Jim a grateful look with a delightfully upturned eyebrow.

Because things like this—the little things, the comfortable, familiar things—didn’t need words or explanations.

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, but hope you liked it! Always love feedback and comments.


End file.
